


The Number Game

by emorosadiaz



Series: Starmora Week 2017 [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Public Display of Affection, Romance, Starmora Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 07:30:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11686932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emorosadiaz/pseuds/emorosadiaz
Summary: Gamora lays a hand on his shoulder and leans down closer to him, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. Groot takes advantage of the movement to hop from her shoulder to Peter’s shoulder to the table, running across the surface to Rocket.“I am Groot!” he declares, stopping beside the blaster parts.“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Rocket says, suddenly snickering. “That’s one.”Peter’s already partially tuning Rocket out in favor of both Gamora and the holo, but Gamora asks, “One what?”“Nothing, nothing,” Rocket says with a small cackle.(Starmora Week 2017, Day 2: Hands)





	The Number Game

**Author's Note:**

> yay day 2!!!!! so this one was inspired by my friends who decided to have a little fun teasing our two friends who are dating each other, bc even tho i believe the gotg would be supportive of peter and gamora, they'd be sure to make a point of teasing them ;)))

Starmora Week 2017, Day 2: Hands

* * *

 

It all starts at breakfast that morning.

Peter’s just minding his own goddamn business, scrolling through job requests on his holo while sitting at the dining table alone, his feet kicked up on one of the empty chairs across from him. Gamora’s at the counter preparing Lord knows what (her culinary skills are, uh… _yeah_ ), slightly bobbing her head to the beat of the music playing from his Zune on the table.

Groot joins them first, running into the room excitedly and latching onto Gamora’s foot. She picks him up with a warm smile and “Good morning!” before setting him on her shoulder. Peter waves to him from his seat.

Then in comes Rocket, pieces of what Peter’s _certain_ is one of his blasters in his paws. Rocket’s tinkering per usual, and after some silent debate with himself, Peter decides not to question him, opting for a quick greeting.

Rocket simply grunts in response, clearly not present outside of his project. He jumps up into one of the empty chairs, moving his things to the table.

Gamora walks to the table with two cups of what Peter’s decided to be the space equivalent of tea. Thankfully, it’s something Gamora’s ( _mostly_ ) able to make without screwing it up horribly. She stops behind him, setting a cup down in front of him.

“Find anything interesting?” she asks, looking at the holo over his shoulder.

Peter sighs. “Not yet. Everything is either too cheap or too… _sketchy_. And that’s a lot considering we’re a pretty sketchy group of people.”

“We’re not as sketchy as we used to be,” Gamora says. He glances up at her and they exchange a quick smile.

“Yeah, we’re the good guys now.”

“Mmhmm.”

She lays a hand on his shoulder and leans down closer to him, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. Groot takes advantage of the movement to hop from her shoulder to Peter’s shoulder to the table, running across the surface to Rocket.

“I am Groot!” he declares, stopping beside the blaster parts.

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Rocket says, suddenly snickering. “That’s one.”

Peter’s already partially tuning Rocket out in favor of both Gamora and the holo, but Gamora asks, “One what?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Rocket says with a small cackle.

A _cackle_. Who even _cackles_ anymore?

Gamora doesn’t pursue interrogating him any further, settling into the seat next to Peter. He just continues to scroll through job requests.

* * *

Again, the morning had been just the _start_ , because when the team gathers for lunch several hours later, Rocket turns to Drax with a horribly concealed stage whisper. 

“ _Eleven_ ,” he snickers into Drax’s ear, who just bursts out laughing. Groot starts laughing, too, nearly falling into Gamora’s soup.

Gamora, pulling her hand away from where she’d briefly laid it over Peter’s hand on the table, blinks once at the trio, then turns to Peter with a raised eyebrow. He shrugs.

“Anyone care to explain what eleven means?” he asks.

“No,” Rocket and Drax chorus.

Peter turns to Mantis and Kraglin. “ _Anyone?_ ”

“I believe it is what is called an ‘inside joke,’” Mantis says slowly, as if she’d rehearsed it. She turns to Rocket with a large smile, who nods his approval.

“Let us have our fun, Star-Munch,” Rocket says with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just ‘cause you’re leader doesn’t mean you have t’know _everything_.”

“Uh…” Kraglin starts to object, but closes his mouth when Drax turns to him.

“Assholes,” Peter mutters, shaking his head and returning his attention to his soup.

* * *

Apparently, the number inside joke is here to stay, because Peter’s still hearing it over comms freakin’ _mid-battle_ two days later. 

“ _Ninety-seven!_ ” Rocket barks with a loud laugh. Peter recoils slightly at the shrill sound, retracting his hand from Gamora’s arm to touch his ear, considering _maybe_ destroying the comms in there, because what the _fuck_. “Ninety-seven, at _least_.”

“ _Ha!_ ” Drax cries out in a strange cross between victory and amusement. Peter watches him stab one of the thugs in-time with his cry.

“Seriously, guys?” he groans, rolling his eyes. “We’re in the middle of a _fight!_ ”

“Peter, behind you!” Gamora says. He ducks out of the way, allowing her to go for whoever’s on his tail.

That shuts up any and all discussion of numbers.

…For about five seconds.

“Drax, does that count?” Rocket’s asking from where he’s flying over them with his aero-rig.

“I do not believe so,” Drax says, regrouping with Peter and Gamora.

Peter groans again.

“Shut up and keep fighting!” Gamora commands.

What a bunch of secretive assholes.

* * *

It continues. 

On their supply run—

“One hundred and nineteen!” Drax bellows while Peter and Gamora look over their hastily scribbled shopping list together.

In the cockpit—

“I am Groot!” Groot says—“one hundred and thirty-four”—crawling from Gamora’s hand on Peter’s shoulder to Peter’s lap.

Even in the privacy of his own _room_ —

“Hundred ‘n fifty-one,” Kraglin says, walking by Peter’s open door when Gamora hands Peter his Zune.

It never ends.

Even when Gamora yells, “ _Enough!_ ” after Rocket exchanges numbers with Kraglin at dinner, Mantis quietly says the next number.

Peter’s not even sure if this “game” of theirs is supposed to make sense. It _could_ all just be a ruse to rile him and Gamora up, confuse them to no end for the sole purpose of the others’ amusement, but how has that not gotten _old_ by now?

Eventually, though, after Rocket throws a hasty number into Peter’s bedroom ( _seriously,_ is there _no_ privacy on this ship?) in passing, Gamora figures it out.

“Of _course_ ,” she says, shaking her head. Peter’s hands follow her head’s movements, trying to hold her half-done braid in place. He frowns. “I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out.”

“Figure _what_ out?” he asks, around the hair tie held firmly between his teeth.

“Their silly number game,” she says with a huff.

He leans around her to meet her eyes. “Wait, seriously? I thought they were just making up shit to mess with us.”

“They’re counting,” she says.

“I got that part,” he says, quickly finishing off the last of her braid. He holds her hair together in one hand while pulling the hair tie out of his mouth with the other, tying the end off. “Counting _what?_ ”

“Us,” she says. He lets the completed braid fall against her back, then pats her shoulder to let her know he’s done. She turns to him. “They’re counting what we do.”

Peter considers her words for a moment, thinking back to the times he’s heard numbers yelled in his general direction the past few days, and _then_ —

“Assholes,” he mutters, pushing himself up from the bed.

“How do we get them to stop?” Gamora asks, meeting his eyes.

He thinks for a moment, then grins, offering her a hand. “I think I have an idea for that.”

* * *

“Hey, Rocket!” 

“What d’ya want, Star-Munch?” Rocket asks, hardly sparing Quill a glance from the bomb he’s working on. Groot’s sitting on the edge of the table beside his work, swinging his legs happily.

“Oh, nothing, Gamora and I just came to hang out,” Quill says a little _too_ happily, even for someone as obnoxiously upbeat as him. Rocket looks up briefly, just enough to identify Quill and Gamora’s intertwined hands.

“Uh, cool,” Rocket says, then turns to Groot. “What’s it now, hundred ‘n ninety-one?”

“I am Groot.”

“Right, right, hundred ‘n ninety- _two_ ,” Rocket says, resuming his tinkering.

Quill and Gamora, of course, sit down directly across from him at the table, because Quill’s an annoying little shit, per usual, and apparently, dating Gamora meant roping her into his asshole shenanigans. Whatever.

“Hey, babe,” Quill says, drumming his fingers against the table, and Rocket fights to contain a gag at the term of endearment, “what should we have for dinner later?”

“Hm, I’m not sure,” Gamora says. “What do you feel like?”

Groot’s suddenly tugging at the fur on Rocket’s arm, prompting him to look up at the dumb couple. Gamora’s feet are suddenly draped across Quill’s lap.

“Hundred ‘n ninety-three,” Rocket grumbles, jabbing his screw driver into the metal a little more forcefully than necessary.

“Honestly, I could go for anything,” Quill says. Rocket catches him laying his head on Gamora’s shoulder in his peripheral vision. “As long as—and don’t take this the wrong way—it’s not cooked by you.”

“Hundred ‘n ninety-four,” Rocket says with a small huff. These two aren’t usually so insufferable to be around, at least not in front of him.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” Gamora says lowly, laying a hand on Peter’s cheek. Rocket flicks his ears, glancing down at the still _very_ young Groot present, but, again, everyone onboard is a frickin’ asshole, because the flirting just _can’t_ end there.

“Hundred ‘n—“

“ _Make_ me,” Quill practically _hisses_ , and Rocket actually sputters at that, because what the _fuck?_ Quill presses a kiss up to Gamora’s jawline.

“I am Groot!”

“Look away, Groot,” Rocket says, grabbing Groot and pulling him back toward himself. “And, yes, hundred ‘n ninety—“

Gamora just presses her lips to Quill’s then, with no sign of coming up for air anytime soon, and Rocket finally groans.

“Oh, for _fuck’s sake_ , get a room!” he huffs, gathering his bomb shit and Groot up into his arms and jumping off his chair. He storms out of the room, tail fluffed and ears folded back.

Behind him, after he’s gone, their kiss is broken by laughter.

* * *

“Two hundred and fifty!” Drax announces at the dinner table, when Peter decides to sit _right on top_ of Gamora, looking down at her with a sense of awe Mantis has never quite seen (or experienced herself) before. 

Peter readjusts a bit in his spot on Gamora’s lap, sitting perpendicular to her. Gamora continues eating like nothing has happened.

Mantis blinks. “Gamora, Peter is sitting on you!”

“I am aware,” Gamora says, all of her attention still on her plate of food. Peter carefully drapes his arms around Gamora’s neck, leaning his head against hers.

“Two hundred and fifty-one!” Drax bellows, looking to Rocket. “Rocket, we have surpassed two hundred and fifty very quickly.”

Rocket, his head propped up by his arm on the table, pushes his food around the plate distantly. He huffs. “Yeah, I know. It’s horrible.”

“It is funny!” Drax says.

“It’s a l’il overwhelmin’,” Kraglin says.

“Chill out, everyone,” Peter says. He presses a quick, loud kiss to Gamora’s hairline. Drax, again, announces the number. “I just like to remind Gamora how much I love her.”

“Publicly?” Rocket growls, holding his knife a little more tightly.

“Of course!” Peter says, then turns to Mantis, holding out his hand. “Mantis, c’mon, touch my hand and tell ‘em.”

“I do not believe that is necessary,” Mantis says, tilting her head. “We can all tell how you feel about Gamora.”

“It’s not like they make it _private_ ,” Rocket says.

“I’m glad I’m getting my message across,” Peter says, hugging Gamora a little more tightly. Though Gamora’s still focused on eating, she _does_ lean into his touch somewhat, and the corners of her lips even turn upward, ever so slightly. Mantis finds herself smiling at the sight.

“Is _dinner_ not even d’ast safe anymore?” Rocket grumbles, pushing his plate away from him. Groot, sitting on the table beside him, makes a dash for his leftover food to play with.

“The dinner table is very safe,” Drax protests. “There are no enemies.”

“ _Drax_ —“

As Rocket and Drax start discussing the safety of gathering for dinner, Mantis continues watching Peter and Gamora, who are suddenly wearing very different expressions, perhaps because they believe the others aren’t paying attention anymore. Peter’s grinning mischievously while Gamora smirks, their shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Gamora wraps her arms around Peter’s midsection, pressing her head against his chest.  

Mantis can’t find it within herself to interrupt their moment with a number.

* * *

Though the team is full of stubborn assholes, enough is, eventually, enough. 

And, okay, maybe it takes Peter and Gamora some giggly wrestling and rolling around on the ground with a few kisses here and there when they _should_ be sparring or improving his knife throwing skills, but Rocket finally calls it off when he’s passing through the room looking for parts.

“Alright, alright! That’s it! I’m done!” he announces, throwing his paws up into the air. “You’re gonna traumatize Groot, you d’ast idiots!”

“I am Groot,” Groot says from his spot on Rocket’s shoulder, where he’s covering his eyes with his tiny hands.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Peter protests, holding himself up from where he’s got Gamora pinned between his hands on the ground, “this isn’t even that suggestive. We’re just playing! This is _totally_ P.G.”

“It’s _disgusting_ is what it is!” Rocket says. “We’ll quit counting your guys’ flarkin’ P.D.A. shit, _okay?_ Just…stop doin’ it in front of us all the time!”

“We were much more tame with it before you and the others decided to make it into a game,” Gamora points out calmly, her head tilted back so she can look at Rocket, though he’s upside down.

Peter nods. “You played yourself here, buddy.”

Rocket groans. “I hate this team and I hate you. Goodbye.”

He turns on his heel, again storming out of the room, Groot frowning at Peter and Gamora from Rocket’s shoulder.

Once he’s gone, Peter sighs, looking down at Gamora. “Did we finally do it? Did we beat them?”

“I think so,” she says. “It was not wise of them to challenge us in the first place.”

Peter sits back on his legs then, allowing Gamora the room to sit up properly, her braid completely disheveled behind her (though, he’s sure his hair isn’t exactly orderly, either). “We make a pretty good team.”

“Only a fool would challenge us,” Gamora says, smirking. He returns the expression. “Now what?”

“Now we can go back to normal.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What is considered _normal_ for us?”

“Well, I have a few ideas…” He leans into her, meeting her lips with his, maybe getting a little _too_ into the moment—

“The game ended, you dumb shits! Get a flarkin’ room already!” Rocket’s voice booms over the intercom.

Gamora pulls away, rolling her eyes. Peter just laughs. 

(Maybe it’s finally time to follow Rocket’s advice and continue things in their room.)

**Author's Note:**

> imagine my amusement when walking around disneyland with friends and the couple of the group is leading us hand-in-hand while those bringing up the back mutter numbers under their breath every time the couple does some new pda. aka me hella laughing bc the couple eventually figured it out halfway through and the numbers started going up exponentially! :P


End file.
